Subterranean
by Fell Blade of Angmar
Summary: Set a few months after the Argo returns from Iscandar, Subterranean takes an intrinsic look into the inner workings of a mostly abandoned underground city, Sub-Kyoto, and the three-man IUA (International Underground Authority) UTAH team that protects the literal underworld of society from the underworld of the figurative sort. New chapters will be put up as I write them. Enjoy!
1. Prologue: Desecration

_Hey all. This is Zach, otherwise known as Fell Blade of Angmar (if you get the reference, much kudos), and this is my first Fanfiction in, well, forever. I've been a fan of Starblazers and its Japanese counterpart since I was a toddler, and with the release of Space Battleship Yamato 2199 my love of the series has grown even more! I started writing this story in late June of 2015 as a personal project to pass the time between graduating and going off to college, with me doing the writing bit and one of my fellow Yamato fans doing illustrations. And as you can attest, the last few weeks have seen a flurry of new content posted, I post chapters as I write them so the story can continue onwards. Now, some thank yous._

 _Big thank you to Madison Bastiaans, who designed the absolutely gorgeous over art at my pleading. Her deviant art page, where you can see much more of her wonderful work, is Huskeylover.  
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 _Thanks goes to Connor Lesch, who is currently working on character designs for the story. He was a big help in coming up with the concepts for this story as well as the tech involved, and I know will be gracing these pages with some wonderful art._

 _Finally, thanks to the Starblazers Fan community. Without you guys, I probably would not have found the inspiration to write this little shindig. Your stories are amazing and add a whole new layer of depth to the series._

 _Well, enough thanks, sit back and enjoy Subterranean!_

Prologue: Desecration

They came from the darkened sky above, giant balls of crimson death hurtling from the outer territories into our atmosphere, decorating the brilliant Ohio sunsets with mushroom clouds and seeping radiation. Our instinctive response, of course, was to run. But how could you run from fear itself? Like the bodies lain across the empty streets, blasted from their homes or slowly decayed into nothingness by radon, uranium, and a thousand other metals we didn't even know could kill a man, our souls were blasted into nothingness, we became numb to death and its consequences. Life was merely a statistic, a percentage that was in freefall towards zero. Our only solution to the crisis at hand was to go underground. Run from the unescapable. And so we dug at the reddened soil, dug at the hollow oceans, dug around the bodies and the fires, dug until we could find shelter.

But even then we weren't safe. Nothing could stop the radiation leaking in like mold from the outside world. No one could escape the fact that food, water, and air were running out. Not one person could forget the cave-ins, fires, and street wars that plagued our newfound homes. Our lives, as we knew them, were over. But instead of committing ourselves to another Masada, we hoped. Hope was like a drug in those darkened tunnels, making us climax in the drunk lust of powerless pleading to a silent god, hope bore fruit and multiplied, giving us the new generation that had never seen sunlight. Hope manifested itself in a tiny capsule sent from a distant planet, locked away in the myriad of waltzing stars we knew as the great Magellanic Cloud. And hope, dear sweet hope, left us in an ark of iron, bidding adieu to Mother Earth's withered hands to save the human race.

And so we waited. The air became thin, punctuated with the cries of a desperate people. There were stories of Sub-Mumbai, where, their air and rations running out, the population had turned against one another, families ripped apart over a crust of moldy bread, a drop of water mingled with the blood of the four people scrambling madly for it. Collectively we shuddered at such tales. We prayed for our safety, our sanity, and our sanctity. The buildings, only a few years old but already withered from years of neglect, creaked in misery. We lived hollow lives, trapped in a root cellar that was slowly filling with mustard gas, corroding our flesh and lungs until we breathed no more.

And then, one burning June day, when the kids, those who were able to walk, of course, were out playing soccer in the bedrock and cement park, and while the parents, those who were still alive, wailed in pain as their bodies slowly deteriorated before their very eyes, we heard a sound unlike any other. It was like rushing water from some long-ago vaporized brook in the Appalachians, except it was accentuated by the collective sigh of relief that every citizen in our town made when they saw the Argo touch down on top of the baked and dying surface of our Earth. We couldn't believe our eyes. Our savior, almost too late, had arrived a mere day before we were scheduled to expire. The shielding protecting us from the worst of the radiation was set to fully deteriorate at midnight the next day.

We wondered if, like a mad trick of Satan, the Argo was indeed too late, and would simply watch as we all succumbed to the sickness that had murdered so many others. But a few minutes after its arrival, the miraculous Cosmo DNA restored a large patch of land above Sub-Kyoto, the city where I was stationed throughout the entirety of the Earth-Gamilon war. With little to no time to spare, the ship blasted off again, hoping to find any city still alive. We had not known how long the Argo had been on Earth, all communications had been stopped a month before to conserve power and, after all, there was no point in communicating our suffering to the rest of the world. For all intents and purposes, the rest of the world was dead to us.

But as we moved, mob-like, up the elevator shafts leading to the surface, a wave of expectancy swept through the entirety of our town's surviving members. Hope, elusive as it was, had returned to the beaten and defeated citizens like a brutal tyrant, subjugating us to a wave of empathy for one another's anguish, despair, and relief. We had survived the war. We were the ones left to take back the earth. We were-. And then our thoughts stopped. For in front of us lay a single ray of sun, filtering through the dust into the closed elevator doors. As the rusted portal slid open, we filed one by one into the airlock, and collectively stepped out into our new world.

Most never came back.


	2. Chapter 1: Persistence

Chapter 1: Persistence

November 23rd, 2200, 0800 Hours: _I suppose I should begin with what exactly I'm doing down in this wasteland. The International Underground Authority was created under United Nations Law in February of 2187. Its job, according to the IUA's charter, was to "provide for the security and welfare of those living in the newly constructed underground cities around the world", a difficult task to say the least. Many of its officers were killed in the line of duty, either trying to quell riots or stop street wars in the maze of concrete and reinforced steel that made up what was left of our civilization. In this apocalyptic wasteland, the IUA was desperately needed to keep order, but as the end drew near many officers abandoned their posts to be with their families._

 _That was five months ago. Since the Argo returned and began the process of restoration, the once teeming underground cities have become desolate, barren of any official residents. However, the word "official" is all but lost down in these dimly-lit streets. Drug lords, organized crime, and corrupt politicians see Sub-Kyoto as a haven, free from any governmental control. After all, the world above is busy dealing with putting itself back together. They hardly notice those conspiring to tear it back apart._

 _That's where I come in. Well, actually, that's where we come in. I'm part of a three person squad that operates out of an old police station in sector 17 of Sub-Kyoto, the area formerly known as "the slaughterhouse". Here, we represent the only authority from the UN Attorney General, whose office sits literally a few hundred stories above ours. Since the cities were vacated, our force has been cut back significantly; now us three are the only officers left in the entirety of the city. My squad mates are-_

"Talking aloud while writing is something that some people find quite annoying." I looked up. Alastair Thornton, our equipment specialist, sat on the other side of the cramped office in a faux leather swivel chair. Evidently I had been murmuring what I had been writing out loud. I blushed slightly.

"Damn it. Sorry man, you know I do that a lot." He looked at me consolingly. He was distinctly British in virtually everything that he did-he was Oxford educated (Begrudgingly, as Cambridge had been blasted into nothingness during the war) and held a PHD in Nano Robotics. Currently his favorite tea was unavailable due to rationing, so he held a cup of piping hot water in his left hand, and a copy of _A Tale of Two Cities_ in his right.

"Not a problem Sam. You know I'm writing my own book." Like the opening of a dam, the creative juices poured out of my mind and onto my paper. I returned to my pen and datapad.

 _I forgot to introduce myself. My name's Sergeant Samuel Hudson, call sign "Alpha". I've been in the underground cities for over 15 years now, originally I was stationed in Sub-Chicago, but I was transferred here to Sub-Kyoto only days before the great fire that killed most of the former's residents swept through the shanties that once made up a proud city. After Sub-Kyoto was officially abandoned in 2200, I was assigned as the leader of the UTAH (Underground Tactical/Aerial Holdings) squadron based in sector 17. My squad mates are-_

"Sam, I know _My Life Underground_ is going to win the Nobel Prize in Literature, whenever they reinstate those, but if you haven't forgotten, we happen to be on duty right now." I sighed audibly.

"Damn it."

"What?" Malaya Castillo, my second-in-command stood by the doorway in her combat slacks. A 26-year-old Filipino, she had been sent to Japan just before metropolitan Luzon had been struck by a Gamilon radiation bomb. A veteran of the Cosmo Navy, she was assigned to a torpedo destroyer as a gunner but was pulled to desk duty before Operation M. I met her shortly thereafter and took her in as a squad mate. Most of the time she acted as my squad's better third, keeping Alastair and I's masculinity (and the associated behavior) in check. Suffice to say, she wasn't a stick in the mud either. Just more of a big sister type, the one that I never had.

"Sorry Malaya, once I get started it's really hard to stop." She grinned wickedly.

"Now isn't that what I heard the girls at the pub said about your performance last shore leave?" I blushed again. My love life wasn't exactly public domain, much less legend or lore, but Malaya still poked fun at my grading system. It was unique, to say the least.

"You're just pissed that I rated you a B+" She huffed dramatically.

"Oh really, Mr. hotshot?"

"Don't feel too bad. I mean, I use a sliding scale." I retorted. Alastair looked up from his book.

"Cut it out you guys. We've got monitoring to do here." Alastair, always the uptight one, didn't get Malaya and I's sense of humor very much. Or if he _did_ get it, he didn't appreciate it much.

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, monitoring empty corridors and rat-infested garbage bins. I'm surprised that High Command hasn't pulled us out to one of the more dangerous Sub-Mets yet." Alastair shrugged his shoulders, not even bothering to look up from his book.

"Yeah, like Sub-Beijing. How many officers have they lost so far this month?" I looked back over at Alastair, hoping for some sort of response.

"I forgot the exact amount, but still, dealing with small-time kingpins and shoestring sex rings is a lot easier than fighting our way through entire complexes filled to the brim with gun-toting criminals."

"I suppose. It's just that-wait, I've got something on the monitor." I cheered in delight. Alastair sighed in relief.

"Thank God."

"Hold your praises boys. This looks a bit serious."

The screen Malaya was pointing at told it all. Through the grainy and blurred image I could see four people, three brandishing high-caliber pistols, the other apparently unarmed, walking down a corridor around three blocks from our station. Two of them had shaved heads and wore black trench coats, the other two wore skywheeler uniforms, complete with the necessary rebreather helmet and metal-spiked leather outfit so typical (and necessary) for hoverbike operation. On their backs were emblazoned the logo of the Death Adders, one of the most notorious hoverbike gangs in the area. From the look of it they had parked their bikes above ground and made their way down here on foot.

Evidently the two groups were of differing factions, so I reckoned this was either a drop, an execution, or a duel. After a little debate we settled on the former. Through the hidden security cameras dotting street corners and the dimly-lit porches, we could see that they were moving towards the southwest, away from our station and towards the old zoo at the far edge of town.

"Alastair, get a lock on those men. Report their location to the DA's office and keep in contact with their movements." I turned to Malaya. Her hand was already on the door leading to our armory. I smiled.

"Suit up."


	3. Interlude: Where the Sidewalk Ends

Interlude: Where the Sidewalk Ends

It lay barren in the dank, hellish wasteland, a dividing line between the civilized world and the cavernous wilds that stretched deep into the bowels of our dying earth. A simple border, where concrete gave way to ashen granite, smoothed over by a thousand years' worth of erosion. Few ever crossed the line. Those who did, never came back. Rumors had circulated through the Sub-Kyoto community, of creatures lurking in the dark, ominous, unblinking eyes staring coldly from the dark void into the light-filled city. Hungry eyes. The maddened, bloodshot eyes of some wounded animal, bent double in the throes of starvation. Most of these tales were dismissed as balderdash, "it's like you're fearing the wind itself, things you can't see" one official told an unnerved crowd that had mobbed down to the mayor's office. The group left, disgusted at his blindness. Gale force, they reasoned, could be more deadly, and still unseen, than anything that they, and he, could ever imagine.

Around three weeks later, a group of teenagers, after a night of grief drinking rancid beer (the pub was virtually the only places in town that still made a profit at the time), convinced themselves that they were the ones that would answer the silent plea of the citizens of Sub-Kyoto, and go to the place where the sidewalk ended. Their hope, according to the bartender, was to find the menacing eyes so ingrained into our town's sub-consciousness and destroy them, so that they would find peace once again. And so, kegs in hand, the five boys drunk enough to believe their idea salient, and destitute enough to willingly throw their fleeting lives at the clawed feet of darkness, wandered out into the night, towards the forbidden border between light, and dark.

We found their bodies two days later while out on patrol, hidden amoungst the wreckage of a residential complex that had been bombed by a street gang some time earlier. Their skin, mutilated as it was, was a unearthly shade of pale, as if they had already been prepared for burial by the local coroner. No blood was found on any of their surface wounds, although all sustained traumatic head injuries, apparently from being thrown to the cave floor by whatever lurked in those shadows. But what frightened us the most about the incident was that, upon a genetic analysis of some of the remaining tissue found at the scene, _none_ of the DNA of the group was original. It was as if the entire genetic code of those unfortunate boys had been completely restructured. From that point forward all traffic past the edge of town was controlled strictly, not that anyone would dare befall the same fate as Sub-Kyoto's would-be saviors.

We never talked much about the darkness after that incident. Its maw, and whatever lurked inside of it, became just another unpleasant, accepted fact of life under the earth's surface. When the lab finished analysis, my team and I went out for a few drinks. As we made our way from the makeshift lab to the pub a throng of people towards the town square, mourning the boy's passage, kept us from taking the most direct path. Instead, we skirted the crowded main streets, which inexorably put us around ten meters from where the city gave way to darkness. I was deep in conversation with Alastair about what had occurred, and why the bodies needed to be burned, when I saw a slight glint from the mouth of the cave, but, when I shook him to take a look, it had retreated back into the darkness. And I swear, to this day, I can recall hearing a low, drawn-out laugh echoing menacingly into my own comlink, emanating a few meters away, where the sidewalk ended.


	4. Chapter 2: The Menagerie

Chapter 2: The Menagerie

Our armory was modest by Sub-Met standards, a cramped office space formerly occupied by the chief of the Sub-Kyoto police department. With the chief's passing a few months ago due to radiation sickness, we had occupied the building as our headquarters. Now, instead of the bureaucratic paperwork that formerly covered every available surface in the room, the office was jam-packed with a variety of firearms, some confiscated, others brought, and other assorted gadgetry. Malaya picked up her pair of customized chrome-plated Astro Automatics from its wall mounting, and scowled back over at me, mocking judgement.

"You're seriously bringing those relics along to a firefight? With those at your side you might as well just give up and ask for mercy." I laughed.

"Yeah, yeah. I wanted to have these things field tested so we can see if they do the job that High Command said they would."

One of the "relics" she was referring to was a new-build type 105 Astro Banshee hand-held sonic emitter. The gun, I was told, was designed to incapacitate criminals by sending out compressed high-frequency sound waves, causing nausea at the lowest level and eardrum bursting at the highest. Our suits inhibited the waves by way of dampeners, so we were safe. The other so-called relic was another new build, an EMP grenade. Since half of our quarry were probably wearing sound-dampening suits, I hoped that the pulse would disable their suits so we could incapacitate them with the sonic gun. After all, simply _killing_ criminals was not an effective law enforcement tool, as we needed to be up to date on our underworld intelligence. But back before the Argo returned, the opposite was normally the case.

"I hope you at least bring something you _know_ will work."

"Of course. I'll grab the flintlocks from the weapons closet." She laughed. Alastair poked his head in from the main room.

"Children, I'd finish suiting up pretty quickly. Those guys, while not exactly Olympic Sprinters, have already almost made it to the zoo."

"Sorry Alastair. I'm still a bit rusty. First action since shore leave ended."

"I get it Sam, we're all still recovering, but we have a job to do. I for one don't want high command-"

"They won't Al. We're the best team they have in this damned Sub-Met." Alastair sighed.

"Sam, we're the _only_ team in this Sub-Met."

"Exactly. Now get back to monitoring their position. We'll be able to get to them just before they make the drop."

"Roger that." And with a flash of his jet-black hair, Alastair disappeared back into the monitoring center, his own personal office. Two minutes later, we set off into the debris-strewn streets after our quarry.

Not having a working aircar to patrol Sub-Kyoto in, Malaya and I set out on foot to figure out where the drop was taking place. Full body suits were necessary for prolonged periods of time down below the surface because of a number of radiation leaks that had occurred as of late, and ours were equipped with sound dampeners that made it to where we could hear each other. Unfortunately, they did little to mute our movements in the cavernous corridors of the town. On my HUD, an aquamarine map of the area showed Malaya and I moving southwesterly towards the zoo, where Alastair had last seen the four men. "Keep a lock on our position Al" I huffed into my comlink.

"Roger that chief. Say, haven't we seen Death Adders down here before?" Before I could respond, Malaya answered his question.

"Not that I can recall. If my memory serves me correctly they're a Sub-Tokyo based organization, with branches stemming off towards the South and West."

"Yep. They specialize in enforcement, express delivery of assorted drug paraphernalia, racketeering, and a host of other violent crimes. Not the sort you'd want to meet on a dark night." I added.

"Or morning, for that matter. Sam, didn't some of your squadmates get into that gang?"

"Yeah." I smiled weakly. A large portion of the Death Adders were former marines who turned to crime because, frankly, it paid better than the military. And up until recently, biker gangs actually had a _higher_ survival rate than the UN Space Cavalry. Those who survived a tour of duty on the moon, it was said, came home to ride in the desert under its watchful gaze.

"Al, bring up a schematic of the Sub-Kyoto Zoo for us." Malaya brought my mind back to the present. I had the tendency to wander off some times. It wasn't too bad, but still got me in a fair share of trouble.

"What's the magic word?"

"Do it now, Corporal." Quick side note. Ranks are screwed up in the IUA. Drawing personnel from all branches of the military, headquarters had never quite figured out what to call people rank-wise. On paperwork, my rank was "Sergeant", though I had been a Lieutenant Commander of the local garrison before the IUA was chartered. Alastair, a corporal in IUA standards, was really a Specialist from the UN army. And Malaya, a Lieutenant in the Cosmo Navy, was given the rank of Captain. Confusing as it was, we normally referred to rank only when pulling it.

Alastair snickered. "Close enough." Then the ruckus of clicking keys and buttons we so accustomed to his line of work started, and stopped. I looked back up. On my HUD, a map of the zoo popped up on the left side. Three corridors, one going in each direction except south (that was the entrance to the facility) formed a letter "T". According to Alastair's intelligence and security cameras, our foursome would be heading towards the left, then meeting in a room in the back of the zoo. Unfortunately, there were no cameras in the facility, so Malaya and I were on our own.

We walked in silence for a while, punctuated only by the sounds of our heavy rebreathers. It was still a good three minutes to our intercept, so both Malaya and I kept to our thoughts. I readied my Astro Automatic in my right hand and the Banshee in my left, just in case trouble came earlier than expected.

The minutes passed. Beneath us the smooth concrete gave way to black bricks as we approached the austere, one-story Sub-Kyoto Zoo. The brainchild of our first mayor (who died of radiation sickness a full three months after taking office, an unbeaten length of tenure thus far), the zoo was little more than a series of glass cells fitted with holographic projectors showing what wildlife _used_ to look like. Honestly, it was one of the most depressing sights I had ever laid my eyes upon.

"Wow. What a dump." Malaya whispered into her comlink.

"Oh yeah. We never got the chance to patrol this thing together." I replied. "Come on. Al thinks he knows where they're meeting up."

"Roger that. Al-" Before she could finish, Al cut her off.

"-Keep a lock on you. Yeah, I'll do that. Stay alert."

The glass doors slid open with ease, despite Sub-Kyoto being off the electrical grid. The cobalt lights, running off a backup generator, bathed the hallways in their meek light, giving the appearance that we were underwater. We slowly advanced, keeping an eye on our flanks. After a few steps we came to the three connecting hallways. I motioned leftwards.

As we walked forwards, the "animal" cages rose up on either side like casket bearers. Each cell, a space no more than five feet deep and six feet high, was empty and mostly dark, as the light coming in from the ceiling was heavily diluted by the thick glass. We were completely exposed, one quick glance away from being shot, but no aggressor appeared in the hall ahead of us. We continued along slowly, creeping by cell after cell in the long corridor. On my HUD, the meeting place showed up as a bright red dot, only five meters ahead. I signaled to Malaya to stop.

Ahead, I could see that the door at the end of the hall, marked "employees only" was slightly ajar. I signed "let's go" to Malaya and started moving forward again. We were now right on top of the red dot. Not hearing anything in the adjacent room, I picked up the EMP grenade and singled to Malaya to get back. Cradling it like a baseball, I rolled it through the opened door and into the room.


	5. Interlude: The Orphanage

Interlude: The Orphanage

The Sub-Mets that dotted the barren surface of our earth were, in a way, giant orphanages, the caretakers of those whose relatives had been wiped out in the holocaust of radiation. Those lucky enough to have survived gave a grief-filled pat on the back to each other. We were the survivors. The ones chosen, by fate, or God, or the stars above, to represent the earth as it moved into its next, final phase. We were the ones who considered those vaporized in the bombings lucky. Most of us had said goodbye to parents as they succumbed to radiation-caused cancer, or any number of other diseases that plagued our despondent civilization.

In the Sub-Mets, any injury was fatal. We found that out the hard way. A simple scratch? On the surface, before the war, a quick dab of bactine and you were good to go, ready to go play back out on the swing set father had constructed for your birthday all those summers ago. A cough? Grab some antibiotics from your local pharmacy and, like magic, the ailment vanished. But, with virtually all medical supplies being taken by the military, no such luxury existed in the squalid wastes of the Sub-Mets. One cut, a single sniffle, or even a slight itch could condemn someone to a slow and painful death. Even the slightest fear of any sickness would cause alienation in the community. As most of us didn't have families, living arrangements were temporary at best, and any number of sick kids would be thrown out onto the streets daily, in order to protect the other occupants of that particular flat from their supposed disease.

The bodies began to show up after around the third week after Sub-Kyoto was opened to the public. At the time, I was on the regular graveyard shift patrol in the meatpacking district (long since burnt down because of radiation poisoning), enforcing curfews and keeping watch over municipal structures. The new city gleaned in the artificial night, sparkling white concrete giving way to high-rises jammed full with the despondent cries of those suffering from radiation sickness. Sure, we had seen the kids out on the streets before, marked with black circles on their left palms to distinguish them as diseased. But we had never expected them to die so quickly. Of course, many of the ones we saw ventured into the darkness surrounding our town, hoping to find solace in a quick and brutal death. But more and more had simply ceased living, either starving or succumbing to whatever ailment troubled them.

I begged my superiors to help fund a resource officer to get the kids off the streets and into medical facilities, just to at least make them comfortable in their final hours, but I was denied fourteen times. The grounds, the letters told me, lay in simple economics. As resources were drawn thin across the entire world, leaders reasoned that military personnel and those who tested out on the Civilian Skills Examination took precedence over the needs of the general population. After all, with no manufacturing going on, those whose primary skills lay in unskilled labor were "unnecessary to the war effort" and were basically doomed to die. Every last one of us had lost our Mother Earth to cancer, but for us unlucky orphans, searching for any place to take us in, the Sub-Mets were merely gas chambers for those not wanted by society's upper crust. After I got my last response, I gave up, knowing that the actions that I didn't take condemned innocent souls to death.

But what really scared me was that, despite the astounding causality figures, the bodies of those children were never collected, even though the streets remained spotless.


	6. Chapter 3: Stasis

Chapter 3: Stasis

Nothing happened. Instead of the loud bang signaling that the grenade had gone off I was hoping for, only silence greeted my ears.

"Ok, what just happened?" I whispered into my comlink.

"I don't think you inputted the access code into that grenade." Alastair chimed in over the com.

"And exactly _why_ didn't you tell me that I needed a damned access code to operate that thing?"

"I dunno, I just thought you could read the instruction manual." Before I could scream in frustration at our controller, Malaya brought me back to the situation at hand.

"Sam, switch over to infrared."

"Why?"

"Just do it." My screen flicked to black, then over to my grainy infrared scopes. In my peripheral vision, I could see the faint heat signatures of the lights as tiny dots, like stars in a polluted sky. But in front of me, there was nothing. No heat signatures denoting bodies. In other words, I had literally almost blown up a room for nothing.

"Well, that would've ended badly." Malaya chuckled into her mic.

"I guess so. Al, are there any passageways beyond what we're looking at?"

"Not on the official schematics. Just go in there. I think it's safe."

I got up, re-brandished my Astro Automatic, and slowly entered the room. Malaya, slightly in front of me, stopped suddenly. I peeked my head over to the left of her form, and, came to a sickening realization as to why she had halted.

"Sam, they're-"

"-Yeah. I can see that." On the floor lay four bodies, two in trenchcoats and the other two in hoverbiker outfits. In the low light, the bejeweled Death Adder's eyes glared up, threatening to petrify us in place.

"Al."

"Already on it." Through my comlink, I could hear a series of clicks and movements, Alastair working at the holographic interface. "Sam, move two feet forward. I can't get a good view of the neck area."

"Roger." I stepped forward. There wasn't any sign of external injury on the Death Adder that I was approaching, it was as if his heart had simply stopped beating. The EMP grenade I had so foolishly rolled into the room was resting next to one of the deceased's arms, and I scooped it up in my left hand and turned over to my right, looking at another of the corpses. "Malaya, grab their weapons while Al finishes his scan." No answer. "Malaya?" I looked up. Malaya stood there, frozen. Through her visor I could see that she was staring at something in the adjacent room. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

"Sam, there's something in that room."

"What do you mean? I'm not picking up anything on my infrareds."

"I know. I don't think it has a heat signature." I had never seen her so afraid before. Her body was arrested, stick-straight, and her hands were already at her holsters. "Sam, I think I know what killed these guys."

"Al, check for electromagnetic signatures emanating from an ionic core in the building."

"But I'm in the middle of my scan-"

"Damn it Al! Do it now!"

"Roger. Scanning now." I turned back over to Malaya.

"Malaya, start walking back slowly. Get behind that desk over there." She nodded, and, careful not to trip over one of the corpses, made her way step-by step past me over to the table. I began to move towards her, keeping my eye on the open door leading to whatever was lurking in there. "Al, I need that scan done now."

"I'm trying! The computer's got a lot of interference to sift through. Just stay-" He never got to finish his sentence. A large, hunched metallic form burst through the doorway, guns blazing at both Malaya and I. With bolts flying all around my body, I dove for the nearest table, evading the shots by inches. Malaya poured suppressing fire from both of her Autos into the beast's belly, while I twisted the EMP grenade around, desperately trying to find its access point.

"Al! Access codes!"

"But I'm doing the other scan-"

"-I don't give a rat's ass about your scan corporal! Just give me the codes!"

"20492, enter it in the southern hemisphere of the device."

"Roger." I typed the code into the grenade and looked over at Malaya. Red bolts flew around the cramped room, spraying the tables with charred holes. She pumped three shots into the aggressor before ducking once again.

"Hurry up Sam. This guy means business."

"Got it. Take cover." I hurled the grenade over at the automated battle system and ducked. A split-second later a blue light filled the room, then nothing. It appeared as if it had done its job. I signed to Malaya "I'm going to peek over" and slowly raised my head over the table. The robot, around 6 and a half feet tall, was shut down. No light emanated from its eye-holes, and the energy belts linking its pulse cannons with the main reactor were dead.

The room was filled with marks from the pulse cannons that had charred virtually everything burnable, with the slight exception of Malaya and I, in the room. The four bodies were virtually gone now, as they had been struck a multitude of times during the crossfire. "Al, what are the results of your first scan?"

"Well, they're partial at best, but it looks like our four friends here were killed by an intense radiation blast, originating from a point shared by that ABS over there. But it seems to have passed, so your suits should protect you from its residual effects."

"And the ionic energy sources?"

"More than just this guy here. In fact, I'm reading a large cluster of them a little ways past that door your friend burst through."

"More ABS's?"

"Not that I can tell. Different energy signatures."

"Sam?"

"Yeah Malaya?"

"Could you come over here for a minute?" I walked over to the dead robot, its hunched metallic form giving it the appearance of an automated weight lifter. Its armor, dinged in several places by Malaya's Autos, was grayish in color, a similar shade to our uniforms. In the darkness, our light-panes illuminated the faint markings of a familiar logo.

"Al, why the hell would an EDF bot be down here?" Malaya was still looking at the bot's diminutive head, shielded by a carbon-fiber helmet extending down to its shoulders.

"Point protection of a facility I would imagine."

"A zoo?" Malaya asked.

"Well, I did a bit of digging while you were fighting that thing and pulled up a schematic of the original layout of Sub-Kyoto. Take a look in the Southwestern quadrant." On my HUD, another map was placed on top of the one currently on my screen. With our positions marked, I saw a building right on top of us that was most definitely not a zoo. "See what I'm talking about?"

"Indeed. Seems like the zoo was a cover for something else." Malaya agreed.

"So that's why they built it. No one ever went here anyways." I chimed in. Behind the ABS, the door was opened onto a metallic platform. I sidestepped around the behemoth, being careful not to reactivate it, as Malaya followed closely behind. Two steps later, and I was staring at one of the most bizarre sights I had ever laid my eyes upon.

"Al, what the hell am I looking at right now?"

"Well, from outwards appearances it looks like around 200 or so stasis tubes, each filled with the body of a teenager. No life signs that I can tell. I think they're all dead, Sam." I looked over at Malaya. She was stock still, silent. I wanted to reach out, help her cope with what she was seeing, but I couldn't. I was preoccupied by the sheer immensity of the complex here. All of them that I could see were in their 20's, and were each in their own tube, frozen between life and death. "Sam, Can you do a facial recognition scan on these chaps and upload it to my server? I'd like to cross check these with police reports."

"Sure thing. Malaya, can you do the same?"

"What? Oh, yeah. Sorry." Something was bothering her, I could tell. If the way that she, almost robotically walked down the stairs and to the nearest tube didn't confirm it, the way she was acting did. I had never seen her so, well, frightened in all my days working with her. It was as if she had seen a ghost. I looked at the first man's face in the stasis tube. He was around 25, blonde, and around 6 feet tall. I finished uploading the image of his face

"Got a match Sam."

"Who is he?" I asked.

"Darren Wilson. 24, reported dead on June 23rd, 2199. Cause of death, radiation-induced colon cancer."

"Does it say who reported him as dead?"

"Yeah, the local police. A patrol found his body and, according to the report, they cremated him since he had no family."

"Which obviously didn't happen." A loud bell went off over the comlink.

"Another match. Thanks Malaya."

"Just doing my job Al. Who is this one?"

"Orville Johnson. 23, died of radiation-induced stomach cancer on April 11th, 2199."

"Let me guess, no family, so they 'cremated' his body as well?"

"Bingo, sister."

"Alright Al. Malaya, let's get to work." For the next half hour, we took down names, did facial scans, and cross-checked identities through city records. All of the men and women in stasis in this facility had been marked as dead by municipal authorities, and supposedly cremated. I began to formulate an idea of what this facility was. At the end of our search, Malaya and I met up and discussed what we had found.

"What do you think this means? With the EDF logo emblazoned on the ABS outside, and all of the inconsistencies in what happened to these people, do you suppose we've uncovered something in our own organization?" I asked her.

"Well, that's the other thing. The briefcase that one guy was carrying was missing from where we found their bodies. I think that that 'drop' might have been a setup."

"Which means that the perpetrator might not be far away."

"Yeah, that's what I'm thinking too. Al, run a scan through the entire city, looking for any movement. We're getting out of here."

"Roger that chief. Scanning now." Malaya turned back to me after looking at all the stasis tubes, lined up neatly on the concrete floor of the facility.

"Sam, there's another issue I have with the reports."

"And that is?"

"All of the people suspended in stasis here are in perfect health. There are no signs of cancer or any of the other diseases that they supposedly died from."

"Oh boy. Then you think-"

"-Yeah. I think those death reports were just cover ups, and we've found something that the government wants to keep the public from knowing."


	7. Interlude: Provisions

Interlude: Provisions

Take only what you can carry. The text was emblazoned on every free corner, be it by way of spray paint, chalk, or even blood, the message was repeated an innumerable amount of times to those evacuating the above-ground cities in the hot, cruel Indian Summer of 2186. Our destinations, unknown. In the giant computer databases that took up entire underground warehouses, entire families were dismembered to a dozen Sub-Mets, never to see each other again. Sometimes the radiation tampered with the computer's circuitry, causing planeloads of refugees to land hundreds of miles from their destination without fuel or sufficient provisions. Provisions. The things we carried with us. Memories, the posters told us, were like concrete shoes, sinking us into the debris-strewn Styx.

Take only what you can carry. We remembered the things we left behind. Springtime on the porch, father grilling a juicy steak for the family, the dog ecstatically scrambling for a piece, mother and sister watching expectantly, their smiles scars of the joy shared on that wonderful evening then-wait, the sky! Look at the sky! Why, it's a meteor! Father shaking his head slowly, telling sister to go inside for a while. Realizations of the sad truth of war, sinking in like white-hot hooks of lead, both flame and tumor, piercing our very being. From then on, eyeing the sky, illuminated by the harsh and passive moon, with disdain and dread, anticipating the next strike to wipe us all off the map.

Take only what you can carry. The elderly and sick were always the last to be assigned to Sub-Mets. We all knew that the planning commissions secretly hoped that in the protracted waiting period for being assigned to a Sub-Met, a radiation bomb would slam into their residency and eliminate them from the equation, freeing up resources for everyone else. From a statistical standpoint this method was the most efficient way of reducing waste in the cities and helping to maintain a higher quality of living for everyone else. From a _human_ point of view, such practices were sickening. More than one UN Evacuation Committee member was indicted with manslaughter during the chaotic days of the great evacuations.

Take only what you can carry. When I first started patrolling the streets of Sub-Kyoto, shortly after being reassigned from Sub-Chicago, I was amazed at the sheer amount of things that the authorities confiscated from citizens. Confiscation crews (off duty, I always called them Prince John's Posse) brought back enough items to be burned that the municipality had to build giant, multistory warehouses to store them in. Of course, as air vents were shut and oxygen was conserved, burning became an obvious impracticality, so, like a hoarder's attic, the warehouse grew fuller and fuller until it could store no more. One day, some local teens (rumors circulated among the townsfolk that they had called themselves the "Merry Men") decided to, well, relieve the burden of storing all that stuff from the authorities.

Take only what you can carry. That's what they did, really. From what I was told, as I was off duty that particular night, the youth snuck into the warehouse, ransacked it, and made off with as many things as humanly possible. That was, of course, until the police arrived with automatic rifles, gleaming like teeth in the artificial gloom. I heard the shots from my house, resonating cold and crisp in the night air like fireworks in an opera house. I dared not glance out my window, only to confirm what I already feared. The boys, I knew, were dead. Their funerals were sparsely attended and heavily guarded, to prevent rioting from the horrified population. Four pale-faced boys were brought up by pallbearers, one by one, and set to the left of the altar. As they, one by one, filed out of the dimly-lit chapel, I thought I heard one of them whisper;

"Take only what you can carry."


	8. Chapter 4: Itineraries

Chapter 4: Itineraries

"You found a what hidden in the zoo?" Aito Iwasaki, the UN Attorney General, glared through his monitor onto our HUD's. A 38-year-old veteran of the UN justice system, and a native of Japan, he was the legal architect of the power shift to Tokyo and had capitalized on it immensely. While the IUA was by charter an extension of the Attorney General's office, I had only ever talked to him once before, at a charity banquet held for the benefit of IUA officers.

"A stasis facility, sir." The Attorney General wore a combination of relief and frustration on his tired face. Al had done some digging and had found no other such facilities in government records. As far as we could tell, this one was the first one to be discovered.

 _But not the last_.

"Any indication of those inside being government officials?" Unfortunately, without any leads on the facility's purpose besides going directly to its operators (who had a strained relationship with the IUA, who they called an "illegal paramilitary organization run by hooligans"), we had to return to square one, our own logic, to figure it out.

"No sir." I replied.

"Did any of them rank above the 80th percentile on the CSE?"

"None, sir." Malaya answered.

"Are any of them convicted felons?"

"No sir."

"Then who the hell were they?" Before either of us could say anything, Al responded for us.

"As far as I can tell sir, casualties."

"I beg your pardon?" Mr. Iwasaki asked.

"They all had been listed as dead in official government records due to disease, and had been supposedly cremated."

"Which obviously didn't happen." I added.

"Indeed." A long silence ensued, broken only by the sound of Malaya and I's footsteps as we traversed the barren streets approaching our headquarters. "You all have put me in a very delicate situation here. Commander Stone and Lieutenant Commander Nakano have been bombarding my office with requests to meet with you above ground, Sergeant." I cringed. Jennifer Nakano, a Japanese American from San Francisco. From what I had heard during shore leave, she was an extremely efficient, albeit passive-aggressive leader. I had no qualms about her personality. It was the department she worked for that made me quiver.

"Didn't she run the Deep Storage Preservation Facility in Sub-Tokyo?" Alastair asked.

"Yes Al. She did." I replied dryly. The DSPF was a last-ditch effort to save the best a brightest of the earth's population from the radiation that was seeping into our Sub-Mets. 120 citizens of Sub-Tokyo were taken from their homes, put into stasis tubes, and placed into suspended animation. After a year, they were supposed to have been revived, but a radiation leak caused the computers to malfunction, which killed half of the subjects and made the other half insane. Pandemonium ensued shortly thereafter when the president made an announcement promoting the evacuation fleet be fitted with the same type of stasis tubes.

"I thought she was court-martialed for her role in that facility."

"She was. But high command pardoned her and put her to work as a liaison to Argus Industries, which manufactured the stasis tubes for the Evac Fleet. I personally prosecuted her before the high courts so, meeting with her isn't one of my top priorities." I smiled.

"And that's why she wants to see us directly."

"Exactly." The door to our HQ slid open with ease, and I gestured Malaya to head inside in front of me. I entered after her and began to take off my armor, one piece at a time, while leaving my helmet, and HUD, on.

"What time are we meeting the commanders?" I asked.

"0900 hours sharp, but be very wary of Commander Stone."

"Why sir?" Malaya asked.

"Because I didn't tell him what you found down there, Captain. For all he knows, your team discovered an unexploded bombshell. I'm going to have my research department and Captain Thornton here work on putting what we know about Stone's connections to stasis tubes together, in order to figure out if there's a possibility that he or someone in his department authorized that facility's construction."

"I assume we're being pulled from duty for the next day or so?"

"Correct. I know it's a bit odd, but discoveries like this don't happen every day. And the ramifications of this unearthing are yet to be determined."

"Right sir. Thanks for looking into this."

"Don't thank me sergeant, your team's the one that illegally gained access into an unauthorized facility, disabled security systems, and systematically checked the identities of 200 young men and women without consent. Hell, if I didn't hate the EDF so much, I'd probably have you court martialed on the spot." We all laughed. For as stressful as our job was, a good laugh was like a gale force wind thrust into the sails of a ship caught in the doldrums. After a minute, the tone became serious again as Mr. Iwasaki turned back to his monitor.

"And the briefcase?"

"No sign of it sir. No movement in the Sub-Met either. It's like it just disappeared." Malaya responded.

"Hmm. That's very troubling. I'll do some digging and see if I can get you anything. Al?"

"Yo." Al said over the feral growls of his coffee machine.

"Can you upload security camera footage from the past 24 hours to my server? I'd like to look it over."

"Shall do." The clicking of his keys was deafening in the silence. "Done."

"Thank you. Good job today guys. Oh, Sergeant?"

"Yes sir?" I asked

"Meet me in my office after you finish your meeting with the Commanders."

"I'll make sure to do that. Thank you sir."

"No problem. See you tomorrow." The communication ended. I finally took off my helmet and breathed in the beautiful fresh air of the Sub-Met. Of course, nothing was truly "fresh" down here, just well-recycled, but still, it felt quite nice.

I walked over to my normal place by the and looked back over at Malaya and Al. The latter, of course, was busy typing away at his computer, unfazed, at least on the outside, by what we had found. But Malaya was concerned. Almost frightened. She, her suit off, was busy reviewing the security camera footage we had of the now-deceased criminals, probably hoping to find any clues as to what had occurred in that back room.

"We still don't know what caused the radiation that killed those men." I nodded slowly.

"And the briefcase has gone missing, seemingly vanishing into thin air." I replied. And without any men to interrogate, the chances of our team finding the briefcase were second to none.

"So I guess all we can do at this point is wait to see what the commanders have to say." I sighed. Something about this meeting just didn't sit well with me.

And I had a feeling that Malaya felt the same way.


	9. Chapter 5: The Forgotten People

Chapter 5: The Forgotten People

 _As opposed to the dank, bleak corridors that make up Sub-Kyoto, bereft of all traces of human life other than the occasional beer can and newspaper, Megaopolis teems with activity. It seems as if every street corner has some vendor selling products to the general public, aircars mingle above the throngs of foot traffic on the thoroughfares and boulevards, and most people have smiles plastered on their faces. But still, the taste of war is still fresh in my mouth like blood. I know most people can still feel it too. After the Gamilon base at Pluto was wiped out, our war ended overnight. But its side effects, the real danger, remained. I can believe we've been above ground for less than five months._

"Sam?" Malaya looked over at me. I glanced back. Even in her dress uniform Malaya looked combat-ready, tense, primed. Amongst the sea of pedestrians in the "Victory Garden" (otherwise known as the Isoroku Yamamoto Public Greenbelt, a five mile long corridor placed within the city's center) Malaya and I sat on a bench facing the EDF Central Command office.

"Yeah. Sorry. Just adding a bit to the next chapter. Give me a second." Even though the tube trains and Yamaha hoverscooters had a distinctly urbanized Japan feel about them, I couldn't help but picture Dayton as it was, all those years ago. The humid air, the masses of people, it all contributed to a very American city. I looked back up at Malaya. She still looked anxious, as always, probably because of the meeting ahead.

"I think that can wait a minute. Listen, whatever you do in that meeting, don't flat out accuse her of being in charge of it. That's not going to get us any closer to solving this whole deal."

"Yeah, yeah. I wasn't planning on walking in there, guns blazing. I'd advise you to do the same to Commander Stone, though I doubt he'll even show up. Drunken asshole." Stone had a somewhat notorious reputation for drinking off-duty, attributing much to the boneheaded, trigger-happy deputy commander of the EDF. Most officers simply got out of his way whenever he actually came to work, as he normally had a terrible hangover. Malaya laughed. Despite our collective terror, I felt as though both of us were going to enjoy our meetings, regardless of who conducted them.

"I hope you know what you've discovered down there, Sergeant," Commander Nakano looked across the table at me, holding a mug full of piping-hot Java Roast in one hand and a datapad in the other. "Because we don't have any records of its existence. If you believe that it's EDF, facility, then I don't know if we can help you." I smiled slightly. The tightrope I walked was a very thin one, and it seemed like Nakano was at the other end, readying a butcher's knife to slice it, sending me tumbling into the abyss. None of us knew if she had known about the facility's construction, and the very fact that she had overseen a similar project made her a prime suspect in this whole ordeal.

"Commander, with my highest praise for your handling of the DSPF project-"

"-Forget the ego stroking Hudson. I want answers." She cut me off.

"Well, I'd be able to give them to you if you would let me finish my sentence, ma'am."

"Yes, but there'd be no point. I knew what you were going to say." I was puzzled. Why was she toying with me?

"And that would be?"

"You must have some connection to the facility that we discovered."

"Actually, no."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not pinning any blame on you, ma'am. The evidence we found at the facility was too inconclusive to suspect any one EDF officer."

"But you suspect the EDF nonetheless."

"Yes ma'am."

"So why did you call this meeting?"

"Wait, what?"

"Commander Stone informed me that you had requested to see me at my earliest convenience. When I asked him to see the request in ink he forwarded me this." She held out her datapad across the table. I took it in my right hand and looked down at the screen. Sure enough, a request had been filed under my name to meet with her.

"That can't be right. I was only informed of this meeting through the DA. He said you wanted to speak with me about the facility." I stopped for a second, hearing a large amount of movement out in the hallway. Nakano must have heard it as well, as she started clearing her desk and opened a drawer out of sight to her right. "Something's going on out there. Hold on for a second." I whispered, and walked to the closed portal. Without making a sound, I cracked the door open, just enough to peer through. At the end of the corridor, a guard stood at attention, almost glowing underneath the recessed incandescent lights.

A muffled shot rang out, then two, then a multitude of fire from all directions filled the narrow hallway, ricocheting off of walls and portraits, charring the wallpaper black. The guard, not even having time to finish drawing his pistol, took two shots to the chest and collapsed dead. Silhouettes of armed men, visible in the light, approached the corner from the other side, their weapons brandished like teeth. I looked around the room desperately for another exit. Besides the window, leading hundreds of feet down to the city below, there was none. Nakano had pulled out her astro automatic and was crouching behind her desk. I, closing the door silently, made a mad dash for her position and took out my comlink. But only static greeted my unwavering gaze.

I swore under my breath. Communications were cut off. No sirens emanated from below, as evidently no one had gotten the word out about the building's status. Whoever they were, it was clear they were out for blood. Motioning at Nakano to duck beneath the table, I took out my gun and aimed it at the door. A few seconds later, a gun barrel poked through the opening, and after a tense moment, the door burst open, swarming with at least 5 heavily armed, uniformed men. With Nakano on my right, we slid out from underneath the desk, pumping shot after shot into the assembled interlopers as they opened fire on us with their own guns, but, running out of ammo, I ducked back into the temporary abode. I looked over at the commander, who had done the same just moments after me. Her face, wet with sweat and blood from a graze wound to her forehead, was twisted in anger. I, not wanting to be on the receiving end of whatever wrath she had building inside her, peeked my head around the desk again. On the ground, five corpses lay still, smoking holes denoting the locations where our guns had found their marks. I signaled to Nakano, 'all clear', and moved towards the closest body.

His uniform was gray like mine, lightly armored with carbon fiber plates on his chest, legs and arms, hardly enough to stop a projectile from embedding itself into his heart, as mine had. No logo appeared on his armor to help identify what faction he was from, in fact there was no identification on him at all. His helmet, however, had a small, barely visible number underneath its rearmost cooling vent. In tiny, black print, there was what looked like a serial number that read "100520". Taking the helmet off, the dead militant's face came into view. He was young, Chinese and, in lieu of any indicators, it looked like he hadn't been above ground in a long while. His skin, unusually pale, even for modern standards, was marred by a pair of horrible scars on his left side, and underneath the armor, I could tell that he was virtually emaciated.

"Commander, what are the signs of someone who has been in stasis?"

"Well, the skin would be paler than usual, and there would be several scars along his or her arms denoting where IV and vitamin tubes were placed. Not much else." She was visibly shaking. I doubt that she had ever had seen action like this before.

"Alright. When they take these boys down to the coroner's office, have them do a full body scan on him, looking for any traces of nutrient fluid in his bloodstream." She nodded. The other four bodies were splayed around the entryway, encouraging further incursions into Nakano's chambers, but none appeared. Slowly, I advanced towards the doorway, my Astro Automatic out and primed. I wasn't taking any chances this time. As I poked my head out into the hallway, a shape moved to my right, about 30 feet down. Like me, the form was hunched taking cover in the doorway. I called out to it. "Is there anybody there? I'm armed and trigger-happy."

"Sam?" It was Malaya. I breathed a sigh of relief as she came running down the hall towards me. Behind her, Commander Stone, grumpy as usual, followed wearily, a smoking carbine in his right hand. As she approached me, I could see that she was shaking as well. "What the hell is going on?"

"I don't know. Did you and the commander get the same welcoming party Commander Nakano and I did?" I motioned down to the bodies on the floor.

"Yeah. Though it took Commander Stone and I a bit longer to take care of them." She motioned over at the commander. He, breathing raggedly, held his weapon like a trophy, displaying its spent casings like the teeth of some feral beast shot in the bush of Africa. Suddenly, he got an indication on his pager, and looked back up at us. Fear filled his eyes, the look of a hunted animal, and, to be honest, I wasn't surprised why.

"Commander Singleton wants to meet us in the briefing room."


	10. Chapter 6: Casualty Reports

Chapter 6: Casualty Reports

The lift doors opened silently, revealing a large room, around the size of a tennis court. In the middle of the space, a man stood, talking on a comlink. Below his feet, a holographic display lit up the entire floor, a standard placement for any EDF facility. Currently, its display showed a schematic of the headquarters we currently resided in, with red dots indicating casualties. I shivered. There were too many dots to count.

"Commander. They're here." Commander Singleton looked up from the holomap at us. Although in his mid-fifties, the war had toughened him beyond his years. Of course, his balding head only accentuated the air of seniority that he had about him, especially as he looked upon Malaya, Stone, Nakano and I. He took a step forward, and the holomap shut off.

"What you have just experienced, ladies and gentlemen, is the worst terrorist attack against a military compound in almost fifty years. The lower five floors are covered in corpses of both our unknown attackers, and our communications are still shut off from the outside world. Without any way of reaching the public, we have no idea who they are or why they attacked us."

"Sir, how did they get into the building?" Nakano asked. The holomap turned back on.

"By way of a self-sealing tunnel, dug from points unknown. We haven't gotten anyone down there to check it out yet." The map zoomed in on the basement of the headquarters building, next to the boiler room. A gaping hole the size of a subway tunnel had been blasted into the westernmost wall of the room.

"Sir, permission for our technician take a look at the hole and try and pinpoint where it came from?" Malaya asked.

"Permission granted captain." Malaya saluted and swiftly exited the room, already pulling out her comlink.

"Back to our unwanted guests. It seems that they hacked into our security systems, disabled the automated defense force, locked all of our doors, and forcibly gained entry from below, before-" He paused. There was a great pain in his eyes, and suddenly, he looked very old, like someone who had seen the world slowly decay around his crumpled form. After a moment, he continued. "before slaughtering the majority of our staff on the first five floors. After the marines were called via emergency radio, they tried to force their way into safe rooms on the sixth floor-" he nodded towards Stone, Nakano and I "but most were killed in the process." He sighed.

"Casualty figures?" I asked. He nodded.

"The preliminary reports indicate that almost 700 people were killed overall, with a majority of them being EDF staff. Around 200 militants participated in the assault, though not all of them have been accounted for yet. We're not disclosing any of this information to the press."

"But what about the public? They have the right to know-"

"That the most secure building on earth was invaded and used as a human slaughterhouse? I may be a reasonable man sergeant, but I don't want to cause _another_ mass exodus into the Sub-Mets, especially since that's where we think they're coming from."

"Right sir." I grimaced. Keeping secrets wasn't my number 1 priority, but Singleton made sense. I could see why the EDF had placed him in command. Malaya walked in a few seconds later, her comlink holstered. Presumably, Al was already speeding towards Megaopolis to investigate the mysterious bore.

"Until we find out who ordered this attack and why, Sergeant, I want you and your team to do all the investigating you can on the facility you discovered. By the numbers and condition of the militants that attacked us today I can assure you they must have come from a similar facility."

"Which means that whoever is in charge of this might be attempting a coup d'état." I added.

"Exactly." Commander Stone piped in. "We can't trust the Star Force-"

"- _You_ can't trust the Star Force Stone." Singleton forcibly corrected him. Stone, fazed slightly, continued.

"Um, yes. I don't trust them, and your team has been in the Sub-Mets longer than most. You're perfect for the job."

"Thank you sir." Malaya said. "Shall we be going back to Sub-Kyoto?"

"Yes. That's where this whole thing started. And take Commander Nakano with you. As her office has been shot up, I don't think she'd be able to concentrate anyways." I smiled. Having another person down in the Sub-Mets was always a boon for us.

"Thank you sir. It'll be a pleasure to work with you, commander." She nodded solemnly. Already reports were streaming in from the outside world about the casualty figures, it was apparent that the attackers had spared no mercy for any EDF officers in the building. The sheer brutality of the attack had left all of us shaken.

"You are all dismissed. Go do whatever you can to help the dead and dying below. They need it." We saluted. Singleton did the same, and turned back to his holomap. Commander Stone walked over and stood beside him. Malaya, Nakano and I walked out the door and back into the lift. As the doors closed, I had a creeping feeling that the answers to who was behind the attack were right in front of us.


	11. Chapter 7: Self-Sealing

Chapter 7: Self-Sealing

A few hours later, after a grueling shift disposing of the militant bodies and helping the injured EDF personnel above, Malaya, Nakano and I made our way down to the basement of the facility. Unlike the other floors of the EDF headquarters building, the basement was not connected by turbolift,

"A self-collapsing tunnel?" Al stood at the point where the giant hole had been punched through the wall of the basement, examining the texture of the rock with a pair of spectacles. When Malaya, Nakano and I had arrived in the room he had been setting up his gear, a pair of seismographs, some monitors, and a kettle, of course. That man would go nowhere without his tea.

"That's what the commander called it. And I'd say he was pretty accurate in his analysis." Al replied. "The boring machine obviously put back in the original rock that it had left behind after depositing those militants, covering its trail by exactly replicating the rock that it had destroyed." He frowned. I knew that he enjoyed a good challenge, but this time he might have bitten off more than he could chew.

"But what's the purpose of a tunnel that reburies itself, besides cutting off reinforcements or making the militants more desperate?" Malaya asked. She stood behind me, with Commander Nakano.

"Well, it also made their attack untraceable. Whoever planned this must have known they couldn't have taken the building, or held it for very long, and just wanted to incur as many casualties as possible. Not having an escape route would be the ultimate cattle prod for any soldier." Al replied.

"So whoever our enemy mastermind is, he's playing Caesar while we're his gladiators."

"With the EDF headquarters building as his arena. Exactly." Malaya nodded.

"But, if these men came from the Sub-Mets, why were they not noticed, and why weren't more called up? Two hundred isn't that large of a number compared to the amount of servicemen and women in the building." Nakano added.

"That, Commander, is what we're going to find out. Al, after you're done here I want you to go down to the EDF Earth Shift lab and talk to the Seismologists there. Figure out if there's been any unusual seismic activity in this area over the past week or so. If so, then ask them to keep a look out for any more of the same magnitude elsewhere around the globe."

"Roger that chief. I'll be on my way after I finish my analyses."

"Malaya, Nakano, meet me back at the turbolifts in an hour. We're going back down to Sub-Kyoto to figure out what's going on with our facility."

"Where are you going Sam?"

"I need to go get something to drink." Malaya nodded, knowingly. The events of the past few hours had rattled me significantly, all I needed was some time alone.

"What'll it be Hun?" A young waitress, American with hair the color of spilt coffee stood behind the aluminum-alloy counter, a pad of paper in her left hand and a black pencil in her right.

"Just some water please ma'am. Don't rush." She nodded and turned back towards the vending machine, picking up a plastic cup on her way over.

"You military?" she asked, staring at the cup while the water poured into its smooth interior.

"No ma'am. IUA." I replied.

"What Sub-Met are you assigned to?"

"Sub-Kyoto." She turned back towards me, and I caught a flash of her nametag, but just the last three letters. "What's your name?" Seeing as she probably thought I was being a bit forward, I wasn't surprised when she stepped back slightly.

"Mariah Wilson. Why do you ask?" I thought the name through again. Wilson. Wilson. Where had I heard it before?

"Do you have a brother?"

"You mean Darren?"

"Darren! That's it!"

"You've seen him? I thought he had died of cancer."

"Yeah. So had the police." I muttered.

"What?"

"Mariah, I think Darren is alive but, at the same time, I'm not sure you're going to see him again."

"Why not? Was he put into one of them Deep Storage Facilities?"

"In a way, yes." She stood there broken. If I could've said anything truthful to cheer her up, I would have. But no words of encouragement came from my mouth, trembling as it was, watching the last vestige of hope be drained from her face. In a tragic way, she was beautiful. All I could muster was, "I'm sorry for your loss." In an instant, she disappeared from view, into what looked like the joint's kitchen. I sighed. If this was what we fighting for, I wasn't quite sure it worth all the trouble.


End file.
